The Wild One
by Agrestic
Summary: Prisons come in many shapes and forms. For Argis the Bulwark, serving another being is no different than rotting in a jail cell. Even if that being is the Dragonborn.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Skyrim.  
But I do wish I lived there. :D

Enjoy.

* * *

He could smell the blood. In fact he was sure that if he licked his lips now, he'd be able to taste it.

The thought made him want to vomit.

Fortunately for him, there wasn't enough time to stop. Ahead of him he could see her running easily through the endless tunnels that wove beneath the surface of the world. She was fast. Throwing out her arms and legs at just the right moments to swing herself along or to vault over a protruding root.

He wasn't fairing too well on his own. He was blundering along, his armor too big, his shield too heavy.

Up ahead he could see her push herself harder, a dim light illuminating the passage. She was a blur of magic spells and coarse fabrics. She smelled like the ocean and a certain flower he could never place.

She was so far ahead of him, and so much closer to the light. He knew she'd reach it before him, and she wouldn't wait. She never waited for him.

And just like that, she dove head first into the light, and like a portal, it sealed behind her, leaving Argis to come to a crashing halt against the dead-end the light had concealed. He didn't turn to face them. He could hear their frantic calls and the harshness of their voices. Their tortured breathing, their feral cries, all registered permanently in his mind as he sunk to his knees.

She'd left him. That bitch.

He placed his hands on his sword, and gave Talos one more call...

"Talos, guide me." He whispered.

"Argis the Bulwark, Jarl Igmund has sent for you." A voice from above said, causing him to flinch at the hatred he felt behind those words.

He never realized how feminine the voice of Talos would sound...

Wait... Jarl Igmund?

He turned his head away from a sudden light that confirmed his suspicions that he was awake now.

"Jarl Igmund has sent for you, Argis the Bulwark of Dushnihk Yal."

He opened his eyes.

It had been a nightmare. A dream. That's all it had been. Yet he couldn't seem to register that the tendril of fear that had tightened around his heart was in vain. His long pause did not go unnoticed.

"Did you hear me, Prisoner? I said, get up."

Between Argis and the bars that kept him caged, the Redguard Faleen stood, her lips twisted into a condescending sneer.

"You can tell the Jarl to piss off." Argis mumbled, leaning forward and away from the cell walls to try and rub the dirt from his eyes. He was filthy, irritated, and could still feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"You WILL stand, Prisoner." She said, stepping aside for a moment as the guard to her right unlocked the cell door. It swung open with a loud creak. Argis used his hand to block the light that made it past Faleen's bulking figure.

"You can piss off, too, Redguard. I rise only for death."

"There will be no dying today, Nord. The Jarl has specifically asked for you."

Argis continued to squint from behind his broad hand.

"What for?"

Faleen's lips tightened into a thin line, and she waved two guards in, who easily dragged Argis to his feet.

"You'll just have to find out."

* * *

Jarl Igmund was a sly and arrogant man.

To his back he had the empire, above him the power of Solitude, and though he faced the Stormcloaks head on with his betrayals and lies, he had too much power to ever truly fear their wrath.

For within his city, carved into the mountains to harness the defenses that nature had already created, he was even safe from dragons.

So on this day, Jarl Igmund was all but outright praising himself as he sat at a long table with his advisors and friends. They ate venison, cooked beef, salmon rubbed with the finest spices, soups of leek and tomatos. Apples cut and roasted with sugars and sticks of cinnamon were being brought in, and sweet rolls were piled high on the table.

Even now he was drinking mead, laughing loudly at a joke that his old friend from youth told him. Their celebration echoed off the walls and deep within the cavern that his new table was set in. The Dwemers had made this space long ago, and Igmund was boastful with his uses of it.

From around the pillar of his pavilion, his housecarl approached, and he raised his goblet to her with a grin.

"Hail, my loyal one! Where have you been Faleen?" He asked jovially, ignoring the frown that seemed to take up permanent residence on her face.

"I've been in the dungeons, my Jarl." She said dutifully, coming to a stop at the end of the table, opposite from Igmund.

The Jarl hiccuped, and the drunken mess of men at the table laughed heartily. The Jarl shushed them by waving his hands eagerly.

"Aye! I remember now." He stood, still holding his goblet high.

"Where is the prisoner I asked for?"

Faleen turned to look over her shoulder, and with a jerk of her head, summoned the two guards escorting Argis to come forward.

Jarl Igmund wasn't surprised that the man he looked upon was filthy and without shoes and only rags to wear. He'd seen prisoners far worse, and was glad that something so disgusting had been brought to such a fine celebration.

"Argis the Bulwark. The hero of Dushnihk Yal." Igmund said, chuckling as he spewed out the last part. "I have waited, all night to see you. Would you like something to eat?" He asked mockingly, throwing his hands out and gesturing to the feast spread out before them.

Argis said nothing, only kept his eyes locked on the shackles around his wrist.

"I thought not." The Jarl said, setting his goblet down.

"Argis the Bulwark, today is a great day. Today, the Dragonborn has blessed our halls, and has decided to make a home, here in Markarth." The Jarl looked up around his mighty room, examining each detail created not by his men, but by Dwemer so many centuries ago.

"Of all places.." He whispered proudly.

Argis looked up slowly, glancing around the table at all the drunken men, wondering which soul could be the Dragonborn. He'd heard only rumors, and even then they'd come from deranged cell buddies, and one can only assume everything they had to say was garbage.

Igmund nodded quickly.

"Yes, yes. We have the Dragonborn. With such power we have, Markarth can only be blessed by the eight divines. Now, on to why, I have called you here, my lucky, lucky friend."

Walking around the table, Igmund stood in front of Argis, his arms crossed in front of him until he felt just as big as the prisoner before him.

"You, Argis the Bulwark, have a chance to redeem yourself. I will excuse you, of all your deeds, all your crimes. You will be given armor, a weapon, a shield.." Igmund paused, beaming. "So that you may swear yourself to Markarth. So you may serve the Dragonborn, the new Thane of Markarth, as a Housecarl."

Argis's face twisted with anger, which caused the Jarl to burst into a fit of laughter. It didn't help that his drunken company found everything the Jarl thought funny to be hilarious, and erupted in their own fake, drunken chuckles. The halls echoed with their noise, and Argis couldn't stand it.

"Shut the fuck up." He snapped, pulling against the guards on either side of him until he was inches from the Jarl's face.  
"You disgusting, drunken slob." He hissed, straining against the two men holding him back.

Jarl Igmund smiled, displaying his crooked teeth as an odd hunger flashed behind his eyes. As his guards held Argis in place, the Jarl stepped forward, instantly sealing them off from the group behind them.

"Yes, you're angry. I can understand why." Igmund whispered, so softly that even Faleen strained to hear from the Jarl's side.  
"You, who have fallen so low, so fast, and for so long. Let me ask you something. If your lady was by your side, what would she be saying to you right this very moment.. Hmm?"

Everything within him froze as Igmund raised his hands and placed them on his shoulders. It caused his skin to crawl and bile to pool in his mouth. There was a pounding behind his eyes, and he felt a growing pain in his chest that caused the pounding to increase in intensity.

"That's what I thought. You have no where else to go. I suggest you make the most of my plan for you. Submit. Serve my people. Accept my whim."

Stepping back, Igmund motioned for the guards to remove the prisoner's shackles.

Argis stood there, his jaw clenched as the chains dropped to his feet, and the guards positioned themselves between him and the Jarl.

"Do not disappoint me. You'll be escorted to Vlindrel Hall. And if you run..."

Igmund paused, smiling from behind his wall of protection.

"Well. You've already seen what the Jarl of Markarth is capable of when he is displeased."


	2. Chapter 2

Please enjoy.

* * *

Vlindrel Hall stood proudly overlooking the main gate of Markarth. The climb was short, and it afforded whoever lived there a stunning view of the world beyond the city in the mountains.

It was uplifting and pleasant for most, but for Argis, it made him want to hurl. In fact, just looking down at the small marketplace below was making his stomach churn, and made his vision do odd things. So he kept his hands firmly on the stone along his route, and didn't look down.

Two guards had escorted him from Understone Keep to the base of the stairs leading up to the golden door of the manor. Once he reached that door, he froze.

Going in, meant that Argis the Bulwark of Dushnihk Yal was no more. It meant that he would never be a free man again. Even as the Dragonborn's housecarl, he would serve someone else without question for an undetermined amount of time. He had to remind himself that it could have been worse. He could still be sitting in a jail cell. That sentence could have lasted until his final days. So yeah, I could be worse.

He brought his hand up and pounded three times on the door. He heard the two guards shuffling away, and stared at the ground as the door opened.

"I'm here for the Dragonborn." He stated.

"And what, does a pitiful mortal, want with the Dovahkiin?"  
The voice that spoke was harsh and rumbled with every word. Argis looked up, mainly out of curiosity and instantly took a step back when he did.

"Woah."

Before him was a Dremora, standing there with a frown and one hand out to keep the door opened. He was immense, standing well over six foot and wearing black armor with jagged edges, and spikes that stretched in all directions.  
His face was jet black, save for the array of red markings along his cheeks, and his eyes were so dark and luminous Argis could see his own reflection twice over in them.

"By the Gods." Argis mumbled, watching as the Dremora bared his teeth in anger.

"Answer me or I will skin you alive. I do not have time for games."

Argis brought himself back to his full height, standing rigid as he spoke. Damn daedra had caught him off guard.  
"I am here by request of the Jarl of Markarth. I am to serve the Dragonborn."

Argis assumed the Dremora was laughing, for short gurgling gasps escaped his throat.

"The Dovahkiin has many servants. Why would the drunken buffoon send more?"

Argis gave the dremora a wry smile for he admired the blunt comment.

"The Dragonborn is now a Thane. Because of this, he has been gifted a protector." Argis shrugged. "That'd be me."

The dremora examined him slowly, his chest rumbling as he took deep breaths.  
"The Dovahkiin needs no protector. But, do as you will, I care not."

He turned quickly and started into the house, still releasing the choking laughs as he walked.  
Argis slammed the door back and entered as well, following the red glow of the Dremora's armor through the main hall and into the immense room.

The fireplace was ablaze, and all around the room women and men bustled about. Furniture was moved into its place, dishes set out, candles lit and lavender strewn for decorative purposes. The Dremora left Argis alone to disappear into the back room, and though he couldn't make out much, he heard the Dremora choke out where he wanted weapons and soul gems to go.

Argis hadn't been expecting a whole crew when he walked from the Keep to Vlindrel Hall. He'd been shocked enough to see the daedra. Catching the elbow of a passing woman, he asked, "Where is the Dragonborn?"

The woman sneered at him and pulled her arm away.

"Ever heard of a bath? The Dragonborn ain't here. Won't be back until tomorrow night."  
She then proceeded past him and down the hall into another set of rooms.

Angered that he'd been shucked here with nothing to do, Argis sat down near a chest stuffed with gems and glanced at all the trophies being brought in and set out. It seemed that the Dragonborn had been busy.

The man had accumulated trunks filled with circlets, necklaces, rings, many fine clothes, and weapons that Argis had never seen before. A wicked mace that glowed green and thrummed with a dark energy, an amulet that rippled with light and sent out strong magical pulses, even a glass display case with a pelvic bone inside of it.

Amethyst, rubies, sapphires, pearls, diamonds, emeralds, and even a small gold gem, all dumped into various chests that were taken to different spots within the house. The Dragonborn had shimmering swords, daedric axes, glass daggers, dwarven bows, and elven arrows that glowed with such a strong light that he felt like he was staring straight into the sun.

The Dremora, who the servants called Master Venif respectfully, orchestrated the whole thing. Everything had a place, and the daedra decided exactly where that was. He didn't speak again to Argis, and soon the entire house was finished, and every last servant had been paid and excused. The daedra did one more sweep of the house, then stood before the fireplace.

In his hands he held what looked like a rose staff, the likes of which Argis had never seen. It had wicked thorns and a stunning blooming flower on top that reflected the light that flickered and danced along the room. Venif set it atop the mantle over the fireplace and waited patiently with one hand resting on the hilt of the blade at his hip. The fire blazed brighter, and seemed to take on a life of its own as it slithered from the stones that contained it, to twist and utterly consume the daedra who stood before it. Within seconds he was gone, his presence pulled from the room, leaving behind a pile of ash, and a haze that spilled over the floors and lingered.

The whole arrangement had not been what was expected, and Argis was officially exhausted, slightly awed, and more than ready to call it quits and head for Riften for some good mead and a card game or two.

To think it was his first night of freedom in ten years.

He ran his hands over his hair, grimacing as his fingers became knotted and he had to tug them free. A bath. The man wanted a bath. He'd been denied one for a decade. It was time.

He assumed the small room across from the master bedroom was his. It held a bed, a side table, and a sturdy looking dresser. A set of armor had been laid out across the straw mattress, and a good looking blade rested in its sheath beside it. But for tonight, the armor held no purpose, so he dug around in the dresser for a set of clothes and some warm boots.

The only bathing room in the house was off the Dragonborn's bed chamber, and he barely spared the room a glance as he walked through it to the old stone tub. It took him awhile to fetch and boil up enough water to fill the tub, and when he was done, he had a new layer of sweat to wash off. He stripped off his old rags and flung them into the fire. He stood still and watched the fire catch hold of the cloth.

No looking back. No more time spent begging for water, or busting lips and knuckles to keep himself alive. No more spending each night spinning out of control into his own inner darkness. No more being awoken to the sound of screams. No more staying up because the lack of screams meant something worse...

In time, all of that wouldn't matter. In time he wouldn't even remember...

He sank into the tub, and spent the next two hours trying to wash away everything that had accumulated over the years. He used the sharpest dagger he could find to clean out the dirt that was caked under his nails and to cut his hair. He threw the wet trimmings into the fire as well.

Using the laces from his shirt, he tied his hair back and got dressed. There were no mirrors in the house, so he stood in front of an immense shield in order to trim his beard and avoid cuts. He removed any stubble left thoroughly, and examined himself.

When the Dremora had given him the once over and laughed, Argis had assumed that his dirty appearance and lack of armor had been the cause. It seemed that Argis had lost much more than that.

His left eye was a solid white, gone from one to many punches. He now had two long jagged scars that ran down his left cheek. The red tattoo on his right cheek had faded, and looked unnaturally gaudy on his thin face. He'd lost more weight than he'd first thought.

He lifted his shirt, glad to see that his ribs didn't poke out too much. He was covered in scars, each one of them a light pink, not too noticeable across his pale flesh. It was enough to warrant a somber sigh from the man. It'd been so long since he'd spent the day in the sun.  
He shut his eyes and braced his hands against the wall.

All in due time. He'd be himself again. It wouldn't take forever. Before he'd been captured he'd had to work for his strength. He was not weak. He'd build it up again. He would take in the sun, woo pretty girls, and drink away his evenings knowing that all this was possible because he survived long enough to get it.

One of the servants had left their pot of stew from lunch on the rack above the fire place, and after toasting himself a piece of cheese between two thick slices of bread he settled down in a chair and ate.

He couldn't eat much, and poured what he'd taken back into the pot, and idly munched on the bread for a little longer. Over time his body had come to realize that food would be scarce, and his muscles and stomach had been the ones to suffer.

He decided to skip on eating and would try again in the morning. Sipping an ice cold mead, however, became a mission. He managed to enjoy it without any vomiting and read one of the many books the Dragonborn owned before going to bed.

Argis the Bulwark of Dushnihk Yal hadn't slept on a bed in over ten years.

None would ever know, that as he lay down to sleep, he fought with everything he had left not to weep.


	3. Chapter 3

For Rowan.  
Thank you for the encouraging, and Orc filled, chitchat. :)

* * *

Argis had never slept so well in his life.

He'd woken up six times, and unsheathed his blade twice. The last time he shot out of bed had reason, and he grabbed up his new sword before throwing open the door.

What he saw caused his heart to drop, and he leaned his forehead against the door way as he tried to slow the rapid beating of his heart. Using that much energy so quickly would cost him, and he could already feel the pain behind his eyes beginning.

"What in Oblivion are you doing?" He snapped, sliding his sword back into its sheath.

"Good morning, mortal." Venif the Dremora said, waiting patiently with his arms crossed, and his frown in place.  
Argis secured his blade to his belt and pulled on his boots after running his hands over his hair to smooth back the strands misplaced by sleep. Really he just wanted the tension there that was causing his headache to worsen.

Venif only waited so long for Argis to get ready before he spoke.

"I have little time for your pathetic daliances. I was merely exerting what you mortals call, 'consideration'. The Dovahkiin will arrive shortly. I do not want the task of cleaning blood off the walls when you are mistaken for a thief."

Argis stood and gave him an incredulous look, which the Dremora accepted as a sign of understanding before storming away. Argis followed him slowly, careful to keep out of the Dremora's way as he straightened random things throughout the house, and tucked others into a chest or wardrobe.

Argis had never seen daedra on a day to day basis, but watching him clean up a house like a little Bruma housewife was odd to say the least. He slid past him towards the table, but instead of sitting down he grabbed one of the boiled creme treats and headed for the front door. Once outside, he leaned against the railing, taking slow bites in between steadying intakes of crisp air.

Food seemed to settle better than the night before, and Argis spent a chunk of the morning taking in the sunshine and simply breathing. From behind he heard the swish of fabric on stone, and he turned curiously to see what came his way up the steps of Vlindrel Hall.

Slowly climbing up the steps was short figure, clad from head to toe, in furs and wraps, and thick fabrics that barely revealed there was a person beneath them to begin with. Over the figures face was a tribal mask of sorts, light blue with thick carvings that revealed nothing of the face underneath The figure didn't stop to greet him or acknowledge him in any way. It walked right past him and into the house.

Throwing the last bit of his treat over the rail, Argis followed the creature inside, amused to see a trail of feathers and cloth from the door all the way to the second dining room that divided the Dragonborn's bedroom from his own.

When he walked into the room, he was not surprised to see Venif standing by the Dragonborn's side. What he was surprised to see, however, was the Dragonborn stripping everything off right in front of the fireplace.

Even more shocking, was the expanse of pale grey skin, and noticeable curves the Dragonborn was revealing.

The Dremora cared not, the Dragonborn cared not, and only Argis had the decency to cough to make his presence known.

Turning, the Dragonborn regarded him from behind her mask, and he tried not to squirm under the unease he had being regarded by an expressionless woman.

"May I help you?" She asked, looking back to Venif as she removed her gauntlets and set them into the Dremora's waiting arms along with the rest of her clothing. She turned to him then, wearing only her mask, the wrappings that covered her small breats and the tight breeches she'd had on under her robes.

Argis didn't say anything for a moment, unable to link together the many thoughts flitting around in his head. After several seconds of this, she accepted his silence as an answer and simply walked away. She headed in the direction of her room and returned after sliding on a set of green robes that she tied loosely around her frame. He could still see the expanse of skin from her breasts up to her collarbone, while the fabric that served as a hood for the mask concealed her from the shoulders up.  
She watched the Nord before her shift from leg to leg uncomfortably.

"Come now, Argis, you've seen a woman without her robes before." She gestured to the chair across from her with a wave of her hand.  
"Please sit so we may speak. I don't like being looked down upon."

Argis nodded dumbly before pulling out the chair and sitting, still watching her as she tapped her nails against the top of the stone table.  
She turned to Venif, who gave her a humanly shrug before he began picking up clothing that needed to be washed and repaired.

"By the nine divine. Say something. Or must I simply leave and wait for you to get off your ass and find your tongue?" She asked finally, pausing in her tapping so that she could regard him for a moment.

Argis furrowed his brow, not quite able to make the connection.

"You, are the Dragonborn?" He asked, chuckling softly until her lack of response caused him to choke back a laugh.

"Yes. I am the Dovahkiin." She said proudly, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. Argis leaned forward, using his fist to gently pound on the table, wishing he could beat his brain instead.

"Forgive me, I was.. expecting someone else." He withdrew back from the table. "Heh. Someone... different."

"Oh? And just, who were you expecting?" She asked, and Argis had enough sense to know a challenge when he met one.

"Someone bigger." He confessed, leaning back in his chair and throwing one arm over the back. "Someone scaly and huge. Maybe a Nord or even an Orsimer."

The Dragonborn stretched her arms behind her head, sighing as she locked her fingers at the nape of her neck.

"Do you think I am to be trifled with?"

"Not at all. Even if you weren't the Dovahkiin."

"Smart thinking."

"I'm inclined to agree."

"Right. Well, enough of this. I am tired and need a bath." She snapped her fingers, and within a heartbeat, Venif was there, taking her hand and bending over it.

"Yes, my Dovahkiin?" He growled, keeping his eyes shut as he did so.

"Venif, please make sure that filthy water left in the bath tub is gone in fifteen minutes. I wish to eat then bathe. Is that manageable?" She asked without venom, her tone reasonable and inquiring. Argis chose not to own up to the dirty bath water, and instead kept his gaze down at the table.

"It will be cleaned and refilled in ten, my Dovahkiin." He replied, his rumble low as he straightened and began walking towards the Dragonborn's bedchamber.

Argis sent her a questioning look, and she didn't acknowledge it as she stood and left him to his thoughts. After a couple seconds he stood and followed her.

"Wait, my Thane." He ground out, finding that actually saying it to her was harder than the previous night's rehearsal made him think.

"What?" She asked, not pausing as she gathered three books and some lavender from a shelf. He'd been about to ask her about the Dremora. Who he was, why he was here, and why on Nirn was he in the other room heating up her bath water.

"Have I introduced myself?" He asked instead, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly. Split second decision making helped him realize he didn't want to know more about the Dremora. Whatever type of magic she was involved in, he'd have no part in it. He was a sword and shield kind of guy. Best to keep things the way they were.

The Dragonborn turned, and he pulled his shoulders forward as he brought himself up to his full height. She was barely tall enough to see over his shoulder, but he'd be damned if she intimidated him.

"Argis the Bulwark. Champion of Dushnihk Yal." She said softly, holding the books tight to her chest as she spoke. "Anyone with an ear for legends has heard of you."

Argis suddenly felt uneasy, and right as he went to question her further, a gurgling cough stole away her attention.

"Your bath is ready, my Dovahkiin." Venif growled, bending once more as she stepped closer.

"Thank you Venif." She said, touching his shoulder as she passed him and disappearing behind the thick door of her bathing room.

Venif sent the Nord a fiery glare, his armor clinking noisily as he approached.

"You, mortal, will protect the Dovahkiin with your life. Your honor as a soldier, and as a man, demands it." He said, his voice shaking with hatred as he spoke. He extended his arm, and Argis looked down at it in surprise.

"I've already sworn my loyalty to the Dragonborn." He said stiffly. "I will protect her with my life."

Venif continued to hold his arm out, his eyes narrowing as Argis stood unmoving.

"Words are pointless, mortal." He hissed, and his eyes flitted quickly down to his arm again as he struck it out further. "This is an agreement. Man to man."

"Man to man, huh?" He asked, voice low as he looked Venif in the eyes. The Dremora's look was unwavering, so taking a deep breath, he threw his arm forward and locked it tightly with the Dremora's.

For a moment, his skin was suddenly a flame, causing him to lean forward and stifle a yell that pushed at his throat. In seconds it was gone, and Argis looked down shakily once his arm was released.

In none other than Daedric, a series of small runes had created a criss cross pattern around his arm, burned into the flesh and glowing a faint red in the dim light. The Dremora gripped Argis's opposite shoulder, holding him up as the Nord tried to focus beyond the pain.

"By the gods.. what have you done?" He demanded, his body shaking as the pain began to quickly subside and only the ache of newly injured flesh remained. The shock from the experience was wearing off, and he used his uninjured hand to grab at the Dremora's armor, dragging him close enough to see the malicious glint in his eyes.

Venif released soft choking sounds, the likes of which Argis had come to recognize as laughter. He was laughing.

"If the sun should rise or set on the Dovahkiin's blood, you will suffer the most painful, lingering death a mortal has ever known." He reached up, and easily bent back Argis' hand before shoving him away.

"Take care with her life, for yours now depends on it."

The Dremora walked to the fireplace and disappeared, leaving Argis to kneel on the floor in silent agony as he stared at the marks along his arm.


	4. Chapter 4

Please enjoy.

* * *

The little girl, whose blonde hair had grown just long enough to begin to curl, brought him another flower. She was so proud of herself. She'd picked thirteen already and had counted them out to Argis as she laid them in his outstretched hand. He'd told her they'd need fifteen to make a bouquet big enough for mama, and the little girl was thrilled to be given the task of deciding which flowers were good enough.

She brought back a purple one and mumbled, "Fourteen..." Before she took off through the field to find a pink one.

Argis basked in the sun, enjoying the breeze that wafted over the hill from the ocean. After several minutes, he saw no sign of the little girl, so he stood, concern beginning to drive away the happy feelings he'd just had.

He walked down the hill, seeing her little white dress clearly against the vibrant green of the land. He was relieved. Coming up behind her, he laughed, holding the bouquet up with a grin. She was hunched over something with her back to him, her little hands holding it close as she tried to block whatever she'd found from view.

"Silly girl. Did you forget we needed one more?"

She didn't turn, just continued to hide her face from him.

"What do you have, sweetling?" He asked, bending and gripping her tiny shoulder.

He released her with a gasp as she turned.

In her hands she held a human arm, bloodied and missing chunks of flesh. Her face was splattered with blood, and she chewed vigorously at a bite in her mouth...

* * *

Argis sat up with a muffled cry, his body glistening with sweat, and his heart beating frantically against his chest. His right arm spiked with pain, and for a moment he was lost as he tried to fight through agony and reach solid ground again.

The markings along his arm burned with an unknown intensity, and it was unbearable. He grasped at a moment of clarity long enough to stand and stumble to the basin of cold water on his dresser. He dunked his arm, using his other hand to cup handfuls of water along his skin as he groaned. He leaned heavily on the little piece of furniture, his body shaking as he fought the urge to vomit, which caused a pitcher to fall to the ground with a loud, 'clang'.

Dry heave after dry heave racked his body, and he forced his arm down into the water as he tried to take several large breaths to calm his stomach. After several long minutes, he found himself able to straighten up, and he slowly withdrew his arm from the water. It throbbed with a dull pain, and there was a growing pressure in the back of his head as everything started to sharpen and focus.

That dream.. That damn dream. He could still see the blood, still feel the wind as it brought the scent of the ocean up to mingle with the flowers and the reek of decay.

Another nightmare, another dark image his mind had conjured up. He assumed that the pain in his arm had something to do with it, and tried to push it out of his thoughts as he slowly grabbed the basin and headed for the living quarters.

The water was tinged red with blood, and bits of burnt flesh had flaked off from his arm and floated across the water. Fucking Daedra. Argis fumed silently, trying to push the anger down as he dumped out the old water into a drain by the front door, and used the pump above it for fresh water.

His loathing for the Dremora knew no depths, and in the back of his mind he wanted nothing more than to slash him open slowly and rip out his heart. Venif was the cause of his pain, and more than likely the cause of that wicked nightmare.

Somewhere, deep inside him, Argis had hoped that something would happen to the Dragonborn to insure his freedom. He hadn't contemplated killing her, or even attempting to make a move on her life. But Argis knew just as well as any adventurer that accidents happened, and men and women alike were welcomed into the Void no matter what stage of life they were in.

Looking down at his arm, examining the very distinct shape of the runes, he could feel time ebbing away. Even if he left now, packed up and told everyone including the Dragonborn to fuck off, her end meant his end. Her life was his. He rested against the basin for a moment, looking at himself in the water.

Argis was not ready for eternal darkness. He couldn't accept death so soon when he'd just been given another chance. So for now, he would serve the Dragonborn, and make sure that bitch didn't do something stupid and get herself killed. But in the meantime, he's search for a way to break the Dremora's fucking curse.

Argis passed through the dining room on his way back to his chamber, and was surprised to see the Dragonborn sitting at the table. She wore a comfortable looking blue dress with a brown bodice that fit her figure well and matched the same tribal mask she wore. In front of her was a series of letters, and she fanned herself with one as she read another.

He left her to her reading, and proceeded to clean himself and wash his hair within the privacy of his room. He had been provided a set of steel armor, and he strapped it on carefully, making sure everything fit right before moving on to the next piece. It was a fine set of armor, and he couldn't explain the power he felt with it on.

He'd always been partial to being well protected, but he'd spent the past decade in nothing but rags and chains. To wear this armor made him feel like a warrior again. He was a man.

He sauntered out proudly to sit at the table across from the Dragonborn, and she looked up at him and chuckled.

"My, my, you fit your armor well." She said, setting down the letters and leaning back in her chair.

Though his pride had been stroked, Argis nodded solemnly, reaching forward and helping himself to the food spread out on the table. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of speaking with the Argis she'd met the day before. He was already long gone.

"Thank you, my Thane, for the armor. It fits well enough." He said, looking down at his plate before beginning to take slow, steady bites.

She shifted and leaned forward, seeming to peer at his lap where his right arm rested.

"I see you aren't wearing the gauntlets." She pulled back, her voice softening. "Do they not fit?"

Argis looked up at her, a surge of anger beginning to rise in his chest once more. She knew damn well why he wasn't wearing them, and he forced himself to swallow his words and think. She hadn't put the Dremora up to this, he could tell that much, but the least she could do was control the monsters she summoned.

"No, my Thane, they fit fine. I find them to be restricting when eating." He snarled, looking down at his food once more. She didn't say anything for a long time, just allowed him to devour the meager portion of eggs and salmon he'd taken in silence. She resumed picking through letters until she finally found the one she wanted.

"How would you like to try out that new blade?" She asked, drawing his attention back up as she spoke. She waved the letter slowly.  
"Dragontooth Crater has an unwelcome resident. We'll leave as soon as we're packed and ready."

Argis dropped his fork on his plate and used his fingers to wipe at the eggs that stuck to his beard.

"Are you shitting me?" He asked, leaning back and staring at the letter. "You want to go fight a dragon? Willingly?"

The Dragonborn stood and tapped the letter against her other palm, her stance relaxed as she moved towards her chambers.

"I don't recall asking for commentary, Housecarl Argis." She called back cheerfully, and he resisted the urge to pick up his plate and chuck it at her backside. Not even two hours ago he'd decided to do his best to keep this woman alive, and the first thing she wanted to do after breakfast was fight a dragon.

Argis left his plate where it was, but then sent it shattering to the floor as he reminded himself that the Dremora did the house work. So he tipped over a pitcher of wine and smashed a sweetroll into it. Childish, he knew, but had the Dragonborn not yelled at him to get ready, he probably would have added a ladle of stew to the mix.

* * *

Through the city gates and out past the stables, Argis had maintained a respectable distance from the Dragonborn as they walked. In accordance with his servitude, he was to serve her and carry her burdens. That included, but was not limited to; taking an arrow, sword, mace, or a speeding ball of flames and agony to the face. When tortured he was to reveal nothing. When kidnapped he should not expect a rescue. In all matters, she came first, her horse second, her Dremora third, and him fifth. He assumed the fourth was a pastry of some sort.

But as they passed the stables, the Dragonborn denied her horse, and once they were out of eyesight of the city, she slowed down and walked beside him. Argis had picked up a comfortable pace, not only happy to once more have the weight of armor and a sword on him, but the heat from the sun had lifted his spirit to soaring heights.

Argis the Bulwark had led an interesting life before being captured, and that life had had him spending many hours out in the light.

The Dragonborn must have been observing him, for she said, "You seem happy."

It was a simple statement, and shielding his eyes from the sun, he nodded, irritated that she was attempting to make small talk with him.

"I am, my Thane."

She nodded, moving swiftly alongside him as they came over a stone bridge along their path. The Dragonborn had packed very lightly, and had decided to shoulder her own pack rather than make Argis do it. She still had on her mask, along with a set of green mage robes, and leather boots and gauntlets. Argis had never seen her face, but just from the color of her skin, he was able to surmise she was a Dunmer.

It didn't anger him that she was an elf, in fact he found it rather ironic. The spoken hero, in the land of Nords, was an elf. He couldn't help but wonder what Ulfric Stormcloak would say...

She noticed his staring, and tucked her hands under the straps of the pack she'd slung across her shoulders.

"Did you not spend a lot of time outside before you came to Vlindrel Hall?"

Argis shook his head. "No, my Thane."

She released a short sigh, and Argis tried his best to ignore the displeased sounds she was making.

"Are you married?"

"No, my Thane."

"Any children?"

He looked at her, his expression one of irritation as she looked back at him with that damn mask.

"No, my Thane." He ground out, picking up a faster pace that she easily kept up with.

"Parents? Friends? Pets? Whores?" She pestered, until finally Argis came to a stop, rounding on her in such a way she was forced to take a step back.

"None. No one. I have, no one. I was no one before coming into your service." The irritation in his voice led him to borderline shout, and once his voice ceased its echoes off the rock walls on either side of them, he hissed out a soft, "My Thane."

She placed her hands on her hips.

"Thane is a title of respect and honor. Housecarls and Thanes alike work together to serve the Jarl and make the world better. At least that's how it is in the many holds I've been to." She gestured to him angrily. "Yet from you the word is laced with bitterness and resentment. What have I done that has angered you so?"

Argis glared at her, trying hard not to turn his vision of punching her hard enough to splinter her mask into a reality.

"The title of Housecarl is earned. Brave men and women are honored to be given the chance to protect the Thane of the hold. They take an oath, and they are proud to keep it." He paused taking a deep breath to try and hold back the anger in his words. "Markarth is not like other holds. I spoke an oath that my heart denied... For purposes that you would not understand."

The Dragonborn's stance didn't seem to soften, and she stepped forward until they were only inches apart.

"You do not spurn me, then ask me to shoulder your burdens, Argis the Bulwark." She said. "We may not be friends, but we are, allies. I am not against you."

The Dragonborn stepped around him, and he listened to the crunch of the road beneath her boots as she walked.

"I will leave you be, Argis. I apologize for trying to pry. I won't make the mistake again."

He felt no shame as he turned to follow behind her up the road. She may not have been a direct cause, but he felt that he had suffered much pain because of her already. The curse carved into his arm, the embarrassment from having to cow before someone lest he suffer the wrath of a Jarl's army, the impending peril of running around and fighting bandits and dragons for petty sums of gold.

A fog began to settle along the road, and Argis kept his hand on his blade as he followed along silently behind her. He watched her pull free a torch and light it with the palm of her hand. The sun was gone, and in its place he was left with a burning rage that he couldn't contain...

Argis couldn't help but blame her for everything.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you for the reviews and for following this story.

Please enjoy.

* * *

She had crept slowly up the winding path to the opening of Dragontooth Crater without making a sound. The top half of a tower, that had once over looked the stretch of land from the crater clear to the Volskygge ruins, now lay on its side next to its still standing lower half. Making sure to stick to the shadows, she tucked herself inside the structure, taking the time to inch back until what was left of the old floorboards concealed her. The Dragonborn had another two hours before the sun came up, and she planned to use the sunrise to her advantage and not storm in there with hands blazing.

From behind the rotting wood, and just to the right of her hiding place was open ground, and she knew that was where the Dragon rested. However, the earth was still, and no roars pierced the night sky which meant he had to be settled in for now. Slowly lowering herself down, she sat perfectly still against the stone walls, silent as the grave as she prepared herself.

She focused on her breathing and the hum that always resonated deep within herself when a Dragon was close by.

Argis, however, had been told to stay at the beginning of the path until he heard the sounds of fighting. Then he was to join her in battle. He'd also been told that his armor was too clunky and would ruin their chances of a surprise attack.

She then told him that if he was a good boy and listened, she'd give him a honey nut treat for a job well done.

Argis had told her to scream like she was being crushed between a giant set of jaws if she needed him before that.

Ever since they'd left Markarth the air between them had been strung with tension. They hadn't stopped to rest much, and when they reached the dragon's lair Argis was exhausted. The Dragonborn wore robes, a wooden mask, and leather boots. Argis wore steel armor, gauntlets, boots, a helmet, a shield, an immense sword, and didn't even want to think about the extra weight of his provisions.

He simply forced himself to keep up the mantra that after this little adventure he'd spend some time working out and beefing up once more. Maybe he could convince the Dragonborn to order Venif to serve as a punching bag.

With a soft chuckle he settled himself between two small trees on a ledge of dirt down the path and watched the Dragonborn's form disappear from sight.

Digging through his bag and beneath his travel cloak he felt the smooth wood of the pipe box he'd bought from the Khajiit merchants they'd passed earlier on the road.

It had been only their second stop, and Argis had been surprised when the Dragonborn went to speak with the merchants. They seemed to know one another well, and went digging for bright red bottles and lock picks for her to take before she continued on her journey.

One of the Khajiit had caught his attention, an elder who hunched forward over the cane in her lap and gestured for him to come closer. She had graying fur, and wide ears filled with gold hoops and small fragments of crystals and bones. She opened up a thin wooden box that contained a fine pouch of tobacco and a hand carved pipe made of clay and bone.

Argis smiled, wondering how the old cat had known.

"For your vices." She said in her scratchy voice, waiting with an outstretched palm for his septims. While she bit into each coin he handed her, she nodded curtly at the Dragonborn who was shaking hands with their caravan's guard.  
"The ones within the walls will not even speak to us. But she has brought much coin."

Argis had wanted to explain to her that the Dragonborn was as arrogant as the rest of them, but the Khajiit had turned from him to help one of her travel companions dig for more lock picks.

Now he was trying to keep quiet on his small ledge, so he took his time pinching the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe as he reflected on the day. He took several good puffs, tampered it down with his thumb, and took another puff just to make sure it wasn't too loose. It was going to take time for him to get used to the feeling of a clay pipe instead of a wood one, but it was a luxury he hadn't partaken of in years.

The tobacco had a good flavor to it, and he licked his lips before striking the match against the bark of the tree to his left and lighting up.

A heavy mist had crept down from the mountains to settle over the stretch of land around them. Soon mounds of rocks became faint shadows in the distance, and the glow from his pipe was all he could see. He pulled free his cloak and tucked it around him. It wasn't long before it was weighed down by the droplets that clung to it.

The 'yip' of a fox echoed around him, and he could feel a shift in the air as something stirred. Something big was on the move.

He quickly tapped out the contents of his pipe and stuffed it away inside his bag. He did little more than toss his cloak over his pack before kicking it behind the tree he'd been near. He stumbled up the path, trying not to falter as the earth began to shake and a fierce roar burst from above.

The dragon had taken off into the sky and had begun to circle, sweeping low as it tried to find the culprit behind the blood drenched ice spike that had pierced its cheek.

Argis had never seen a dragon's fire before, and was more in awe than frightened as the dragon let out a stream of flame that missed him by inches. He started laughing as he pulled his sword free and ran the rest of the way up the path. He could hear the call of battle, and it resonated deep within him, urging him to move faster.

Sprinting past the top of the fortress the Dragonborn had hidden in, Argis found himself in open land. Above him, circling slowly with its immense wings spread wide was the dragon, and already it had a vicious number of bloody ice spikes protruding from its body.

He hadn't seen The Dragonborn throw anything, nor give off her place among the rocks. It seemed she was nowhere to be found, and after a brief glance at the jutting rocks above, he assumed she'd begun climbing to get a good vantage point. But Argis was left on the ground, a gleaming target in the middle of smoking ruins and charred bodies.

He raised his shield in time to catch the Dragon's attack, and he screamed beneath the pressure of the blast. Flames spun around him, whipping beneath the shield and catching on to the fur that lined the inside of his armor and singing his hair. The metal itself turned red from the heat, and he groaned as the attack came to a stop and the beast took off towards whatever had distracted it further up the rock wall.

Making for the crumbling ruins opposite the back curve of the lair, Argis ripped off the cork from one of the red bottles the Dragonborn had given him. It smelled oddly like grass and milk, but he drank it anyway, glad for the soothing feeling that suddenly overcame the intense burns along his neck and shoulders.

A pained roar filled the sky, and he looked from the doorway of the old fort as the Dragon landed on its hind legs. The earth beneath him shook, and Argis grabbed up his weapon once more as he charged the beast from behind. It was using its wings to viciously beat against the rock wall, its target unseen to Argis who hacked at the back of its legs and the underside of its belly as it screamed in pain.

The Dragon lifted its left leg, and kicked back as hard as possible, catching Argis's shield and sending him skidding across the dirt. He released a choking gasp as he slowed to a stop, throwing his shield from him and thanking the gods. The shield was a crumbled mess of wood and steel, and was no longer of any use, but he was still alive.

From his place on his back, he finally spotted his thane, and only because the bright blue light from her hands gave away her place up on the rocks.

The Dragonborn was slowly descending the wall, jumping from ledge to ledge. She'd pause every second or so to pull her hands back then fling them forward, releasing a thick spear of ice that twisted and pierced the dragon with a sickening crunch.

It was roaring pitifully now, almost down to its last tendril of life.

It reared back, spreading its wings and taking in a deep breath. Rolling over and clambering to his feet, Argis went in for an attack once more, determination pushing him hard. There was no way she could avoid its attack, and even less of a chance she could take it and still be alive in the end.

He jumped over its wildly swinging tail, and lifted his sword to drive it into the Dragon's right flank. As he pushed his blade deep, he felt the air itself suddenly tense with an unspoken power.

The marks on his arm pulsed, and for a moment, the world slowed and grew hazy.

Looking up, he could see the mist swirl apart as the sun rose and its beams bathed the inlet with light. From her perch, the Dragonborn threw back her arms and hunched forward. A force, unlike anything he'd ever seen, shot from her body. It parted the tunnel of flames the Dragon had released, and snapped the Dragon's neck back.

This force was strong enough to lift the beast from the ground and into the sky, and Argis released his sword in time to drop down and roll safely into a pile of bones. Time seemed to return to normal, and he remained where he was, panting heavily as he followed the Dragon's path with wide eyes.

The great beast had skimmed the sky then slammed against the crumbling fort Argis had taken refuge in. The walls burst, stones came tumbling to the ground, and the dragon landed in with a bounce. While its head was twisted back with a slack jaw, the rest of its body crumbled into a tangle of legs and tail.

He didn't even hear the Dragonborn drop down and walk past him to examine the Dragon. The cloth over her shoulder had been burnt to ash, and the skin beneath it was charred and beginning to crack when she used her shoulder. Sweat had soaked through her clothing, and she leaned her head back and exhaled through the mouth opening in the mask as she trudged on.

After a moment, Argis climbed slowly to his feet. He dug under the side of his armor to remove one of the plates that had sliced through his skin and had pushed against his ribs. He hadn't even noticed it at first.

Holding his side, he came to stand beside the Dragonborn, and she nodded slowly at him.

Together they walked towards the Dragon, slow and cautious, both with hands raised and on the attack. Once they were close enough, it began to burn away, its ashes floating into the air before being swept away down the mountain.

Beams of light shot from the beast and surrounded the Dragonborn, and she didn't even wait for the soul to finish harnessing before she began walking away.

Argis followed her in silence, and only nodded gratefully after she stumbled to her bag and dug out two red bottles; one for her and one for him. She tapped his bottle with hers, pulled free the cork and turned from him to lift her mask and chug.

Argis held his bottle for a moment, catching his breath and calming his stomach. The potion would be of no use if he vomited its contents back up. After a second he grinned broadly, managing to catch the Dragonborn's attention as she turned back around.

"So it's true then." He said, taking a steady sip from his bottle. "You can really absorb their souls."

He shifted from one leg to the other, and watched the Dragonborn's silent nod.

"Doesn't that make you like… a giant soul gem?"

She didn't say anything, but after a moment or two, she released a tired chuckle.

"I suppose it does."


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you to everyone reviewing and following. Please enjoy.

* * *

He watched as the Dragonborn held down a stack of scales with one hand and wrapped them up in hide with the other. She bound them with ropes and tucked them inside her pack next to a bundle of dragon bones and a small velvet pouch filled with gems and septims.

Argis turned away and returned his attention to the wall behind him. It was at the back of the lair, carved into the rocks that towered above them and blocked out part of the sky. The wall held markings that Argis had never seen before. From far away they'd looked like mere scratches in the rock, but upon closer examination he found them to indeed be symbols of some kind.

He dropped his pack and rubbed his hands together, stepping closer to the wall to get a better look. It didn't seem like anything special, so he hesitantly held his hand out, touching the stone with his fingertips.

In some way he'd been expecting a sort of reaction. As if it would thrum to life and show something powerful to him. But it didn't. It was just a wall, and he'd had just about enough of magical runes, and growling beasts to last a life time.

With an exhausted sigh, he grabbed his pack and hovered near the Dragonborn until she was ready. She'd loaded him up like a cart with every last thing she could find in the area. He assumed this was how she amassed her wealth, but who had shouldered the weight before him?

"Got every last septim yet?" He asked, nudging her bag with the toe of his boot. She swatted at his leg and tilted her head sharply up at him, and he could only assume it wasn't an amused look. He mumbled a profanity under his breath and started for the path back down the mountain. He could hear the crunch of her footsteps, but didn't turn to make sure she was with him.

His crumpled shield rested in his way and he sidestepped it as he passed. The shield had served its purpose, and he wondered to himself if it was enchanted in one way or another. The Dragonborn hadn't said anything, so he'd never even thought to ask. He saluted the contorted dragon skeleton as he left Dragontooth Crater.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky, and the hills of the Reach were eerily quiet. There wasn't a breeze to stir the air, a cloud to cast a shadow, and not one animal had shown hide or hair in hours.

Argis found himself trudging along the road after the Dragonborn, who had taken the lead hours ago. She kept up a good pace, even as she tread clumsily over rocks and random pieces of wood. He preoccupied himself with singing old Nord songs to himself in rhythm with his steps.

A particularly thick branch caught the Dragonborn's ankle, and he simply stood back and watched as she fell forward and hit her knees. Ever since the battle with the dragon she'd become considerably weaker, but had still insisted on heading home straight away and skipping making camp. That and she'd interrupted a particularly nice rendition of, 'The Wobbajack and the Fish', he'd been reciting to himself.

But in a way, Argis couldn't blame her. Between the threat of the forsworn in the hills, and the reek of burnt flesh surrounding Dragontooth crater, he'd been more accepting of the idea to return to Markarth than he would have been under normal circumstances. But at the same time neither of them had slept in days, due to her stubbornness, and his inner calm was wearing thin.

He would have been fine hiking high up into the hills and finding a nice tree to take a nap under. Maybe splashing around in a river, free from armor, from Markarth, and especially free from HER.

He couldn't begin to describe how nice it had first been to leave the stone prison of Markarth. The Jarl was known to brag about how strong his city was. How because of its place within the mountains and its great walls, it was even safe from Dragons. It was dark, and cold, and while the people went without, the Jarl threw elaborate celebrations for anything that might boost his reputation as the most powerful Jarl in Skyrim.

Before he'd left Understone Keep, the Jarl had issued him only one warning. Argis had spurned the Jarl once, and had lost ten years because of it. And now...

Stomping forward, he grabbed her upper arm and hauled her up, using his hand to steady her as she swayed away from him.

"You about done?" He asked, grabbing hold of her pack and swinging it over his shoulders against his own with a grunt. She held out her hand to take it, but he warned her away with a dark look.

"I'll be done when I'm good and ready." She brushed off some of the dirt that clung to her knees, threw her head back, and started walking again.

He shook his head. "Go left and down that hill. We can't be too far from Karthwasten."

She turned back to him, body stiff as she drawled, in a tone so arrogant he could have mistaken her for an Altmer, "Excuse me?"

Argis groaned, dropping both bags and grimacing from the aches of his muscles. They were standing in the middle of a dirt road arguing about nothing. He was burning up beneath his armor, and sweat trickled down his neck and back in a way that caused him to squirm uncomfortably. He wiped at his face with an irritated groan and fought hard to keep his tone reasonable.

"Look, I don't know about you, but I'm thinkin' we stop off at Karthwasten. We can rest there, get some mead, some food, some sleep." He sighed and begrudgingly closed his eyes. "My Thane."

She shook her head, shaking her finger in a way that just pissed him off. It didn't help him that she was still concealed behind that damn mask, and he was growing tired of talking to a carved hunk of wood.

"You seemed to have misunderstood me, Housecarl Argis. We are going back to Markarth." She rasped, bending to haul her pack away from him and back over her shoulders. "I need a bath."

Argis the Bulwark bristled, his hands clenching into fists around the straps of the bag as he stared her down. His resolve to stay calm hadn't lasted long.

"My Thane, you are a fucking moron." He yanked the bag back, and she let go of it with a shocked gasp.

He pushed past her and walked off the path and into the grass, grunting as he lifted himself over a ledge and began down the hill.

"How dare you!" She roared, scrambling up the dirt after him. He stopped to turn and look up at her. She marched right up to him and stood inches away. Even with the incline of the hill on her side, he still towered over her.  
"Do you really think you can speak to me that way, and then walk away? I've plucked chickens more intimidating than you."

"With all due respect, My Thane," Argis snarled, "We walked for a day straight through mountainous terrain to fight a dragon. A dragon. Then, without even thinking it through, you expect me to follow you back to Markarth without even stopping to sleep once." He raised his hand and aggressively poked the forehead of her mask.  
"Is there something wrong with your brain?"

"No. Is there something wrong with yours? You have done nothing but make snarky remarks and defy me this whole trip!" She snapped, gesturing angrily with both hands.  
"I don't have to stand here and take this! I've had better treatment from Dremora. By the Void, I've had better treatment, from DRAGONS!"

Her shrill voice echoed along the hills, and the earth rumbled as she clenched her fists and drew in a deep breath. After a couple of seconds of dead silence, she slowly began fidgeting with her robes, readjusting them and making sure her mask was straight before allowing her hands to rest at her sides. Never once did she address the shocked expression on Argis' face.

"What kind of Housecarl are you? If you didn't want to be a Housecarl, why did you swear into my service?" She held out her hand and angrily pulled the strap of her bag from his shoulder. The exchange was awkward, and he didn't offer much help as it dropped to the ground by her feet. "You don't have to be here. Any Housecarl would be honored to follow me around and carry my things." She hissed.

Argis remained quiet, tracing the lines of her mask as a sharp chill ran over the hills. The sky was darkening, and had begun brewing up a terrible storm. He couldn't tell if it was Skyrim's usual fast paced weather, or if her outburst had summoned something...

"But no, I got you. And for your own reasons, you're staying put. But don't try to punish me for the decisions you've made." He came back to the conversation, his brain turning over as he struggled for something to say. She let out a low hiss, barely audible through the wooden mask.

"It is now your job to find me a place to bathe. We'll find shelter in Karthwasten."

Just like that, she ended the conversation by stepping past him and beginning down the hill. He took a moment before following her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. How nice it would be to plant his boot in the middle of her back. How beautiful would the arch of her body be as she went flying down the hill to land on a pile of rocks.

From over her shoulder she waved two fingers at him to follow, so he gritted his teeth and started down the hill as rain began to fall.

* * *

Karthwasten was a small mining town up in the hills, but had enough residents and buildings to stand out against the jagged rocks and peaks that blemished this end of The Reach.

It was almost evening when they reached the outskirts, and Argis took the lead as he began searching for shelter from the rain. He didn't have to look for very long before the Dragonborn touched his shoulder briefly and motioned for him to follow. Just ahead up the hill was a long building with many carts filled with pick axes and ores lined up in the front. It seemed the miners had left their cave and were filing into the building. A female Orc was motioning for the two to join them inside. They were barely three feet in the door before the Orc had grabbed the Dragonborn, and brought her in for a fierce embrace.

"I thought I recognized your silly mask, elf." She growled, and the Dragonborn laughed.

"Hmph. I'm surprised you could see at all over those tusks."

The Orc let out a bark of laughter before releasing her and ushering them further in. Argis surmised this building was for the miners, and took care not to knock anything over as he set his pack down. The room was full of grime covered men, all of whom were busy either cleaning themselves with rags and buckets of water, or eating hot stew and drinking mead. They all seemed content to meander around the warm fire together, and he was glad they'd welcomed him and the Dragonborn in out of the rain.

They'd just gotten the door closed when the Orc said in shock, "By Malacath. Argis the Bulwark."

He looked up then, frozen in his spot, but not because of the chilled rain. He recognized this Orc, and he tried his best not to look shocked as she came forward to link her arm with his. Right arm met right arm, and he grinned through the pain of his marred flesh, genuinely happy.

"So you got tired of cleaning up after your brothers and figured mining was the dream, eh?" He laughed, and she scowled at him.

"And what would a stupid Nord know of real work?"

"Is that jealousy I hear in your voice? I would expect that of a woman."

"I could never be jealous of a Nord. You are all nothing but target practice for the many great fighters from the Strongholds and the Legion."

They were both grinning now, and kept their arms linked as they spoke.

"Brother. It has been a long time." Lash gra-Dushnikh rasped, wrapping her other arm around his shoulders as she embraced him.

"Yes it has." He held on to her tightly, trying to ignore the shooting pain twisting up his shoulders as she pulled him close.

"I was surprised to hear from Borkul that you had left the Stronghold." He stated, and he gave her hand a hard squeeze as the happiness drained from her face. "I didn't expect to see you here, of all places. What prompted you to leave?"

Before answering her gaze had briefly turned to the Dragonborn, and he wasn't particularly partial to being the only one not in the loop. An Orc leaving her Stronghold meant she was banished for life. Something that surprised Argis, for Lash had been very close with her mother the last he'd seen. Then again, that had been ten years ago...

"I will tell you, but not now. It is good to see you, brother. What brings you to Karthwasten?" She asked, and he smiled despite his annoyance.

"Food. Water. And two beds."

Lash chuckled and slammed him hard on the back, causing him to step forward and grunt from the pain.

"So the Bulwark isn't made of stone?"

Argis frowned, wanting to explain that they'd been on foot and under fire for two days straight. But he decided to save himself from her mocking. Anything he could do, an Orc could do thirty times better, so he'd heard.

"The Bulwark is made of steel." He retorted. "But steel can only hold up so well to a dragon."

Lash gave him a wide-eyed stare, and he laughed as he followed her through the gathering of miners to the back of the bunk house. There were only enough beds for three of the workers, but she offered the Dragonborn her bed and offered a warm bed roll to Argis. Once a screen was built between the bed and the rest of the room, Argis busied himself with stripping out of blood stained armor, and washing off the sweat and grime from battle with a bucket of water and some rags.

One of the miners offered him two sets of clothes and soft leather boots for them to borrow until they departed. Some time in between, the rain had stopped, and most of the men left to find something else to do long enough for the Dragonborn to bathe and dress in privacy.

They ended up sitting around the damp tables on the small patio outside Karthwasten Hall. The air was warm, if a little humid, and more benches and chairs had to be added as more people arrived with mead and food. Argis joined them after some time, taking up a seat next to Lash after she scooted to the other end of the bench. She handed him a bottle of mead, and he accepted it gratefully. Many people toasted him as he sat there, congratulating him and the Dragonborn on an excellent kill. Word traveled fast in the Reach, and the guards of the hold were known to be horrible gossips.

"So, how does it feel to be a part of the glory again, eh?" Lash asked, and Argis scowled despite the good intentions of her question.

"She is a Thane. I am but a Housecarl." He answered sarcastically, feeling a prick of shame after saying so. But Lash nodded, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly before pulling her hand back.

"There is no shame in serving a champion. Even less when she is the Dragonborn of legend. You bring pride to your Stronghold."

Argis chanced a look at her, and she met his stare without flinching.

"I have no Stronghold. I have no tribe. That was ten years ago..."

Lash shrugged nonchalantly. "You are still remembered as Argis the Bulwark, Hero of Dushnihk Yal. Your tales are hard to forget. You command your own legends. Just like the Dragonborn."

Argis shrugged and took a sip of his mead. "You are a legend too, Lash gro-Dushnihk." He said, and the Orc shrugged angrily before looking away.

"There's no shame in leaving your tribe."

She let out a bark of laughter, but it was bitter and made him feel hollow.

"Gharol made me a sword. It was thin, and would be of no use in defending myself. I have no tribe."

Argis nodded. "Well. At least you won't end up as a third wife."

That alone was cause enough for Lash to bang her cup against his bottle in cheers, and they both drank quietly for a moment. Argis had known Lash since they were young, and for years she'd dreaded the fate that usually fell on the women of the Orsimer communities. Marriage to a chief and forced to breed. For Lash it would have been bad enough getting married, but to a male?

While Argis had always agreed she'd needed to get out, he'd always thought it'd be together. He never wanted to be tied down. Ten years ago he'd had a plan, and now...

The only difference was that she'd gotten away from her fate. As the silence stretched between them, he focused on the pulsing in his right arm, wondering why it had ached terribly for the past day or so, but had now been reduced to a mere tingling. He'd begun to think that maybe the runes reacted to his emotions, but the burning could be just as bad when he was happy as when he was angry or sad.

"How long were you in prison for?"

"Ten years."

"Ahh. That, is a long time, my Brother."

He tried to ignore the sympathetic crease of her brow. She waited for him to tell her more, but he'd already made up his mind. Kin or not, he planned on keeping details from the past ten years to himself.

"So, how do you know...?" He trailed off, and motioned over his shoulder with his thumb towards the barracks. Lash arched her eyebrow at him, looking over his shoulder at the building he was talking about.

"Her? The Dragonborn? Ha!" She laughed and took a deep drink from her tankard. "You swore yourself into the service of this woman, and you haven't even learned her name?" Lash shook with laughter, and Argis had to bite down on his tongue before he said anything he'd regret.

"You Nords are just big messes." She said, and Argis leaned back some to show his growing irritation. She waved her hands at him in a flippant way.

"Don't act like a woman. I'll tell you. The Dragonborn brought me the message of Gharol." She smiled sadly and looked down into her cup. "Afterwards she left me alone, and I mourned."

"Alright." He said sadly before clearing his throat. "But you seem to know her better than that."

Lash nodded in agreement. "She was young when she brought me the message. And then two years later she shows up again, asking questions about a girl. Turns out she was looking for Fjotra, Enmon and Mena's girl. The little human was taken one morning on the main road by a member of the Forsworn."

Argis' look was incredulous, and Lash continued in a softer tone.

"Turns out Fjotra was a new Dibella priestess, or something. The Dragonborn had been sent to find her." Lash paused to take a drink, leaning so close to Argis that he felt like some a conspirator plotting someone's demise.

"The Dragonborn stormed in, burnt the place to the ground, and brought the little girl back to her parents without a scratch on her." Lash swore, sitting back up with a grin. "After that, she escorted Mena and Fjotra to the temple in Markarth to leave her with the priestesses. Brought Mena back, safely, then left. Every month she makes the trip from Markarth to Karthwasten. Brings news of the little human for her parents."

As she finished, Argis rolled his eyes as he drained the rest of his mead. What a perfect patron of Dibella, the Dragonborn was. Lash scowled and punched him in the arm for the rude gesture.

He didn't get a chance to scold her before the door to the barracks house opened, and the Dragonborn made her presence known. After looking around, she walked down the stairs and joined them at the hall. She was met with applause and she held up the drink she'd been passed before a roar of approval.

For the hero of legend, she looked small, and fragile wrapped in a miners shirt and slacks that were way too big for her. She had to use a belt to keep the extra fabric from sagging down, and he saw that she had left the boots they'd been given for a pair of fur shoes that didn't seem to have the sturdiest of soles. Once more she had her mask in place, but this time her free hand messed with it consistently. He wondered if she'd taken a break from wearing it while the barracks had been empty. He wondered if she ever took a break from wearing it.

He felt the force of Lash's body as she physically moved him over and welcomed the Dragonborn to her other side. Argis stared at the table, pouting now that his conversation was over, and she'd decided to steal his companion.

"So, Thane of Markarth? What do you intend to do for the people?" Lash growled, and the Dragonborn chuckled. On the other side of the Orc, Argis rolled his eyes and helped himself to another bottle of mead.

"Well, now that you ask, nothing. I get served cake, and have servants dressed as dragons massage my feet." She said matter-of-factly, and the Orc shook her head. As if they'd all done this before, two of the other miners, both male, began singing, "Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin!", off key, and loud enough to trigger a groan from Argis. A Dunmer and an Imperial to the right of him joined in the laughter, and even Lash offered up a grin.

"You are a strange, little elf." She joked, and she turned away long enough to throw a mug at the singing men. They laughed loudly at both her bad aim, and the Dragonborn who was still chuckling.

"At this point I'm still getting used to the city." She shrugged, but her expression was unreadable behind the mask. "My first seconds within the walls were bloody. The ones to follow more tiresome than good. Had rumors of my antics not caught the Jarl's attention, I wouldn't have had to waste my time earning the title of Thane there at all. Nor any of the other 'perks' that came with the position."

Argis bristled for a moment, unable to help but think that last remark had been some sort of dig at him.

"It's not difficult to catch the Jarls' attention. It's even easier to be named Thane." He growled, the Dragonborn snapped her head in his direction. The Orc between them could sense a fight brewing, but didn't want to draw attention to herself by squirming out from the bench.

"I would agree that an audience with the Jarl is not hard to come by. But the title of Thane comes with much blood shed and footwork. However, I hear becoming a Housecarl is as easy as sitting in a four foot by four foot cell until summoned." She quipped, and the Nord took a shaky breath to calm himself. The runes on his arm lit up and he could feel the pain rip up his arm and settle at the base of his neck after his sudden flare of anger.

"Oh?" He ground out, trying not to lose his patience and resort to violence instead. "I'm surprised you had time to visit with the Jarl and gossip. What with being so busy at the temple of Dibella for the past couple of years."

The Dragonborn tapped her nails calmly on the surface of the table, and he could only guess she was giving him a petty smile from behind that mask.

"You'd know all about the priestesses of Dibella. Or would you? Do they make house calls for Housecarls in their cages?"

"Maybe if you took a break from your kneeling place before the Jarl every once in a while, you could find out for me."

"Is that jealousy I hear? When was the last time a woman knelt for you, _Hero_?"

"Ahh, but look at you two now. A home in Markarth, new roommates, and you've killed a scaly beast together. Be proud. Your strength is worthy of the celebration!" Lash suddenly cut in, her voice loud enough to drown out the conversations going on around them. The Dragonborn and her Housecarl glared at one another through the silence until the other towns people distracted themselves with more food and mead and the bubble of laughter and discussions took over once more.

"Yes, you're right, Lash." The Dragonborn said softly, turning her head towards Lash to show her staring contest with Argis was over.

Argis clenched the bottle in his hands tightly as he looked the other way and growled. The pain from his arm was slowly subsiding, but now it drowned out his thoughts, and occupied the space there. He couldn't even get angry without an eruption of pain blotting out his thinking. The exchange with the Dragonborn had been someone else. Something had begun speaking for him. How the fuck was he supposed to deal with this? There had to be a rhyme or reason to the curse Venif had given him. He just had to figure out what triggered moments like the one that had just passed, and how to stop it before they began.

He turned his attention back to the cause of all his problems, and there she was. His Thane. The Dragonborn who could do no wrong and shit sweet rolls. In a time where the world was in strife, what name held more power than hers? In Markarth, where the Jarl bragged about anything within the city, she was probably treated better than any High King or Emperor.

He remembered sitting in his cell beneath Under Stone Keep when a new man had been brought in. Another member of the forsworn who'd been involved in an attack on a caravan headed into the city. After the guards had locked him up, they stood just outside the cages, talking loudly to one another about something that had happened in Helgen. They spoke of Dragons and that Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm had escaped during an attack. Argis had barely listened to them, trying instead to sleep through the pain caused by several broken ribs he'd earned for being 'argumentative'.

But he'd heard it all. Everything.

He'd heard that the Dragonborn had been at Ulfric's side. Had spurned him and followed the Imperials, even though they'd been about to execute her. He learned that she'd released the Thu'um for the first time in the middle of Riften during a heated argument. Ever since she'd been rubbing elbows with Jarls, killing dragons, and building up her name until she was no longer a whisper of hope, but a name and face for a time when troubled tides and vicious uprisings threatened to tear the world apart.

While Argis calmed himself, the center of his hatred had returned her untouched drink to the Orc and excused herself, disappearing inside with fond farewells to the men still gathered around the table. Argis remained outside, enjoying the air, reluctant to go in and sleep in the bedroll he'd been allotted for the night. Reluctant because he wasn't sure he could stop himself from smothering her with a pillow.

After some time, the group began to disappear into their homes, and he followed Lash after stealing the last couple bites from a plate loaded with sugar-coated treats. There was the usual bustle of people changing and getting ready, but after several minutes, the barracks were silent. Argis slept to the right of the bed on the floor, able to see underneath it through to the Dragonborn who slept on the other side. Neither had wanted to cheat Lash out of her bed, especially since she'd been straining in a mine all day. That was the only thing they'd discussed before turning their backs on one another.

He rolled on his back to avoid staring at her, and instead focused his glare on the ceiling.

The Dragonborn had asked him why he'd even sworn into her service. Why had he given his loyalty if he didn't mean it. At the time he hadn't been able to come up with an answer.

He remembered standing before the Jarl, being told of his new position, swearing to anything just for a taste of freedom. He remembered the last time he had angered the Jarl, and how little it took to land himself in a small metal cage tucked under the Keep in a special cell.

A small part of him feared the Jarl. That broken part, whose twenty five year old temper had landed him in a small cell, immersed in darkness. The Nord part of him wanted to honor the word he had given, even if given for the wrong reasons. A tired, more sensible part of him had known that there was nothing else out there for him. But most of all, he'd wanted to regain whatever dignity and fame he'd had before. The shadow cast from the last decade had darkened his name, and even though it was unclear then, he'd known that following after the Dragonborn would fix whatever it was that was broken inside. He needed a new purpose, and one had presented itself.

He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, and examined his right arm, careful not to touch anything as he turned it from one side to the other in the air. There had been several times during the past few days where his concern for infection had caused him to do a juggling act while he tried to rinse out the cuts, and recover them with fresh bandages while walking. He'd been tucking the strips of cloth down into health potions before applying them, and that had done the trick. Now they were faint scars along his arm, but no matter how well they healed, they were still noticeable.

They were set in perfectly straight lines, and ran from the heel of his palm to his elbow. Each letter or word, Argis didn't care to learn, would be easy to read if one took the time to sit and turn his arm one way or another. But no matter what it said, every symbol reminded him of her. Every scar and pain he felt, seemed to intensify his hatred of her. Spoiled, talent-less, magical, whore.

After some time, he re-covered his arm and pressed it to his side, his other arm bent behind his head to serve as a pillow.

His right arm was the part of him, that now chained him to the Dragonborn. He'd always been a gruff man. Quiet, a little vulgar, not afraid to use his fists to solve a fight, easy to please, but more often than not, an observer. Someone who only stepped in when he was needed, never before, but was proud of what he could accomplish. He expected people to back up what they say and not weasel out of promises, to face what they'd done no matter the consequences. And ten years ago, he'd been wild. An old soul in a young body, thirsting for freedom and adventure.

But being imprisoned, freed into servitude, marred by a daedra, and not hearing a word about it from her had turned him into something else. Something he didn't like. Whatever was going on burned through him like melted quicksilver, and when he imagined killing anything, his brain put her in its place instead. Something in him was changing, and the old sliver of himself that he'd been saving for the past ten years was disappearing into this new darkness that filled him.

Some how, during his thoughts, he'd turned back to her and she was still turned towards him, her mask secured over her features as she slept. Despite the distance, he could now hear her soft breathing, a sign that she was out and he didn't have to worry about her staring at him without his knowing.

There was something dark inside his heart, and already he was losing control if it.

* * *

He didn't sleep well, and before the rays of light could rouse him, he felt an urgent hand shaking his shoulder. He grabbed the wrist, holding it tight as he sat up. With ease, she twisted her hand free and stepped back. Looking up, he came face to face with the Dragonborn.

"Argis! Get up! The town is under attack!"

She stepped over him to get to their bags, and he didn't spare her another look as she grabbed three red bottles and hurtled herself back over the bed. He threw off his blankets and stood, reaching for his blade which he kept tucked under his pillow for when needed. The Dragonborn was already gone, and he found himself alone in the house, hurrying to slide on his boots before charging out the door.

The hills echoed with the sounds of screams and angry shouts. He had no idea what was attacking, but for a minute, his blood ran cold thinking it might be another dragon. The roofs of several houses were on fire, and arrows littered the ground, so he assumed the worst. As he sprinted down the road, he came around the corner of the hill to the sight of half-dressed miners wielding swords, daggers, and pick axes against savage-looking men and women.

"Forsworn." He hissed gripping his blade with both hands and charging into the fight. He broke through the line of villagers, and into the brawl, slashing away madly at whoever came near him covered in furs, and feathers.

He felt a jolting pain in his shoulder, but kept swinging, finding himself alone now in the fray. He could hear shouts of joy from further up the hill, but tried to focus, slicing across the chest of a young woman who shrieked before tripping over her own feet and falling face first to the ground. Another jolt hit him in the back, and this time he fell forward, his knees crashing against the earth as he roared in pain. Everything was moving so fast, he didn't have time to register how many he'd taken out.

"Argis!"

He didn't turn around as another arrow buried itself in his back. He could feel an intense heat pass him as a ball of fire struck one of his attackers in the side, sending her flying down the road and into a pile of rocks. Before him, a sword wielding man became impaled as a thick spear of ice hit home in the center of his chest. Another one jutted painfully from the left side of an older woman's face as she dropped to the ground with ear aching screams of pain.

He turned to watch the Dragonborn as she raised her hands and shot spell after spell at the Forsworn surrounding him.

He could feel a pressure rising behind his eyes. The world was growing fuzzy, and a sharp sound penetrated his hearing, blocking out the sounds of fighting echoing from inside the mines. He saw a man run up and barely slice the Dragonborn along the arm before she kicked him away and froze. She gave a shudder, and stiff as a board, she fell forward, right into the arms of a smug looking Forsworn who released a great cry of victory. It took seconds.

Argis hit the dirt, trying to focus past the arrows buried beneath his skin, and the frantic pulses his right arm was giving off. Noise ceased, the Dragonborn was gone, and everything was dark.

"Fuck..."

Venif was going to kill him.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks again to all the people reading. I hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

He was freezing. The roaring fire and the mound of blankets on top of him did little to stop the chattering of his teeth. Sweat poured off him and soaked the bed beneath him. He didn't want the water, and the mead wasn't staying down. Finally after hours of fighting, he fell back into the Void, trying to shut out the bolts of pain that tore through him like lightning.

The darkness was silent, and soothing. He drifted and thought back to how he'd gotten there.  
He'd been playing cards with a beautiful blonde, and she'd locked him out of the cabin after he'd cheated her out of her silk stockings.

No, no. It was a brunette. Aye, a brunette, and it'd been dice for her dress buckles.

"Disgusting."

He looked out into the stretch of darkness for the owner of that voice. It was deep, and practically oozed disdain and animosity. Whoever owned it was wrong.

She'd been more tempting than spiced wine during Frostfall.

"Do you mortals think of nothing else but bedding other mortals?"

Argis didn't want to answer. He wanted to drift and return the red heads silk dress stockings with the buckles...

Wait. Wait a minute.

"What are hell are you doing here?"

In the dark a fog had settled, and he stood in the middle of it. It swirled around his legs and shadows danced along his vision. He turned and kept trying to catch whatever remained just out of sight, but with no luck. That is until he turned around and came face to face with the Dremora. He released a shaky breath.

"For some reason I knew you would show up, you bastard."

The Dremora crossed his arms and bared his teeth with an angry snarl.

"I grow weary of your inability to stay in good health. Do you visit strange women?"

"I should fucking kill you." Argis growled, taking a step towards him.

The Dremora's lip curled. For a moment, he looked like an angered cur, standing there with his tense form and his jagged, cruel mouth. He radiated a heat that Argis found familiar. He knew why, too. He'd felt that same heat within himself before. His hatred for the daedra grew.

"You have allowed the Dovahkiin to be taken." The Dremora spit into the fog. "Like common loot. I warned you, mortal."

"I allowed her to be taken?" Argis pointed at himself and leaned forward. "I ALLOWED her? I took three arrows in the back! She got a paper-cut and dropped."

Venif marched forward and delivered a swift punch to the Nord's stomach. Argis bent with it and grabbed the Dremora's shoulder before sending his own fist up and into his chin. The Dremora didn't even wince. He pushed Argis back by the shoulders and smashed his forehead into his nose. The Nord howled in pain, dropping down into the fog as his hands hovered near his face.

"Fucking... Gods." He groaned, blinking through the pain as Venif squatted down before him.

"I can see how the Dovahkiin was taken. You are in need of training." He hissed. "So far you have done a poor job with the care of my Mistress. It's time I remedy that."

The Dremora drew back, watching Argis with narrowed eyes as he turned to disappear into the shifting fog.

"Hold up a fucking minute." Argis yelled, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling after the Dremora. But Venif didn't turn, and soon Argis was just walking around in complete darkness.

"I don't give a flying fuck about her! And I'll kill you!"

Argis was once more alone. Only this time there was a fire underneath his skin. One that he couldn't ignore. It was warm and urgent, but didn't blind him like the bolts of lightning did. No, this fire spread evenly from toes to scalp, and he curled into himself to fight it.

He wasn't going to save that bitch! This wasn't his fault. Why should he risk his life again? Fuck her!

He was burning up, and he couldn't make it stop.  
So he gave in and let the fire burn, and it rampaged on and consumed him. He shouted until his throat was hoarse, but there was no one around to hear him.

* * *

He could barely see the dying fire in his room over the mound of blankets over him. Furs of just about every kind were pulled up to his chin, and he found even breathing to be excruciatingly painful. As everything slowly pulled into focus, he gently touched his nose and sighed with relief. So the Dremora's dream beating was just that... a dream.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time, dozing in and out until the door opened and someone came in.  
He could smell food, and listened intently as the door closed again with a soft 'click'. A tray was set on the side table next to him, and he could make out the silhouette of a woman's dress as she poked, prodded, and added another log to the fire. The flames devoured the log, and she turned back to where Argis lay.

"You're awake." She said softly, and Argis pushed against the bed with his elbows. The soreness erupted into a jolt of pain, and he hissed before lowering himself back down.

"Slow down, son." The woman chided, and she pulled the tray into her lap as she sat in a wooden chair.  
"There's no rush. We've got all the time in the world."

Argis could see her in the dim light now.

A Nord woman, for sure. She had a sharp face, creased with wrinkles and a tender smile. Her white hair was braided and thrown over her shoulder to stay out-of-the-way. She had a broadness in her stance, and he could feel the strength behind her touch as she held him down by his shoulder until he relaxed more.

"Where am I?" He croaked, and he licked his dry lips as she settled further into her chair. She leaned forward and supported his head with one hand, while she tilted a small cup to his mouth with the other. He groaned appreciatively as he drank, and he wet his lips once more as he watched her stir the broth in the bowl.

"You're in Karthwasten still." She said, patiently bringing a spoonful to his mouth.

"Think you'll be able to stomach this?" She asked, and he nodded as best he could. For the next hour she assisted him in eating half the bowl. After only a couple spoonfuls, he declined the rest, and she took the tray with her when she left.

He fell back asleep and didn't wake up again until beams of light worked their way through a hole in the ceiling. He tried again to sit up, but expected the pain and forced himself through it. His back was so sore and tender that even sitting still caused little pricks of pain. But it was better than lying down, and he sat still for almost an hour trying to catch his breath and relax.

The cool wood floors caused goosebumps to cover his skin, and he sighed. It felt good to be out from under the mountain of heat he'd been under. He assumed his fever had broken some time early yesterday afternoon, and was grateful that he hadn't been sick all over himself after eating. Right as he'd scooted himself to the edge of the bed, there was a gentle knock, and the woman from the evening before let herself in.

Argis quickly covered himself up with a blanket and blushed hotly at her. She grinned pointedly at his red cheeks.

"Look at you, all modest. Like I haven't seen your pride and glory every day that I've bathed you."

His blush darkened.

"Eh-herm... Yeah, well, I'd rather keep my glory from further display, thanks."

She scoffed and set a bucket filled with water on the nightstand.

"Awful angry for someone just waking up."

"Let's just say Vaermina is fond of visiting the wicked."

The woman smiled at him and dunked the rag tied to her hip into the bucket. She wrung the water out before passing it to Argis. He accepted it with a nod and began wiping at his face and neck. The cold water felt amazing, and he began slowly wiping himself clean from the dried sweat and grime he felt coated in.

"Even the Gods watch over the wicked. How else would they know when to intervene?"

"I guess. Who are you?" He asked, watching her wipe her hands on her apron before adjusting her braid.

"Helga. Now are you almost done?"

Argis nodded, dropping the rag back into the bucket. "Yeah, thanks. Any clothes I could steal?"

She shook her head as she bent over the opened drawer of a dresser and rummaged for clothing.

"No, but I do have some old mining clothes my son left that you can borrow. I have to check your back, see how you're doing before I let you dress though."

She dropped a small pile of clothes into his lap, before pressing her fingers to his shoulder and encouraging him to lean forward. She gently touched three spots on his back before allowing him to straighten up.

"Well?" He asked, and she patted his pile of clothes.

"Everything's healed up. Couple more days and you should be as good as new. The return to Markarth won't be nearly as dangerous for you. Now let's get you dressed."

He looked surprised. "I'm sorry, what? What do you mean return to Markarth? I have to find my... travel companion."

The woman offered him her arm for him to lean on while he tilted and shimmied into the trousers. He tied them and sat back against the bed, thankful that at least part of him was now covered.

"I don't know about your travel companion. I was told that you were to be escorted to Markarth to speak with the Jarl." She said, and her brow creased with worry as Argis tensed.

"What's the matter? The guards brought a carriage filled with supplies, I'm sure they'll let you ride back on it in your condition."

"Yeah. I'm sure they will." Argis mumbled, lowering his sight to the floor. "Can I eat...? I mean, is there food?" He suddenly asked, and the old woman nodded.

"Helga. Name's Helga, and of course. I'll go get you something."

"Thank you... Helga." He said, and she nodded approvingly as she left through the door. Argis hastily pushed himself to his feet as soon as everything was silent. He was more stiff than he thought, and he took a moment to test his legs. Once he was done doing slow laps around the room, he began slowly rummaging through drawers. He managed to find a pair of boots and some lock picks, but that was it. He tucked the lock picks under his blankets and left the soft boots under his bed for when he'd need them.

When Helga did return, she was loaded with a full tray of food and a smile. She sat down in the chair beside the bed, and told him to help himself. In between shoveling bites of food into his mouth, he managed to get caught up on what had happened.

Apparently after the Dragonborn had been carried off, the Forsworn quickly withdrew off into the jagged rocks of the Reach. Only a small handful of the Karthwasten miners had been hurt, and the rest had hurried to take care of the wounded and send word to Markarth of the attack. The Jarl had had his hands full though. As soon as he'd sent guards off to aid Karthwasten, the leader of the Forsworn, Madanach, had escaped the Cidhna Mines through a secret tunnel he'd been digging for years.

"You're kidding me." Argis said with a full mouth of cheese and bread.

"I wish." Helga said, barely looking up from the sock she'd pulled from a drawer to mend. "But, him and those horrible savages tore through the city and ran off into the mountains."

Argis tore at his bread with a pensive expression.

So Madanach had escaped the infamous Cidhna Mines the same day the Reachmen took off with the Dragonborn. It was too great a coincidence to ignore.

"Then why does the Jarl want me to return to Markarth?" He asked himself softly, but Helga shrugged her shoulders.

"Isn't that protocol? Returning to the Jarl when something like this happens?" She asked. Argis nodded to appease her, but he knew better. If he went back he'd be locked up faster than a sweet roll was eaten after a fast. The Jarl was going to make a public spectacle of the new Forsworn threat while he tried to figure out how Skyrim's champion vanished in his hold. For some reason, he started shaking. Setting his food down, he held his hands firmly in his lap while he took deep breaths.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't go back. The screams, the darkness. In the back of his mind, the fire roared to life, and he determinedly told himself he'd die fighting if he had to.

A sudden knock on the door caused both of them to jump a little, and Helga set her mending on the table before standing. She opened the door and gasped, and Argis felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Standing there, flanked by two of the guards from the city of Markarth, was a robed woman wearing a familiar carved blue mask.

"My Thane." He said, shoving the plates aside and standing. The last time he'd seen her she'd been on the ground, unable to move, frozen in a fighting stance. Then his dreams of the Dremora had him thinking she'd need rescuing.

"I thought you'd been taken." He said, and he gripped the back of the chair in front of him tightly as she swept into the room. She seemed taller than he remembered, and he tried not to scowl at her. Depend on her to make a scene and come gallivanting back like some lone hero. She'd never needed his help, and he was angry that he'd been injured in the process of fighting with her.

He glared down at her as she marched up to him.

"I'm glad to see you too." She growled, and he looked shocked at the rough sound of her voice. She turned her back on him to face the three other people in the room.

"Thank you for caring for my incompetent servant." She said, waving one hand over her shoulder at a gaping Argis.

Incompetent servant? Oh no.

"But that will be all. We are returning to Markarth, together, and I don't want anyone getting in my way. I've had a hard day." She said, and the two guards nervously fidgeted with their shields.

"Lady Dragonborn, we had strict orders from the Jarl to return the Housecarl Argis to Understone Keep." One guard said, as if they'd explained this many times to her before. The fire blazed high against the stones of the fireplace and caused everyone but the Dragonborn to flinch.

"No!" She growled, and the way her voice rumbled caused Argis to grimace. Oh Gods. No.

"Argis will be leaving with me. He is my Housecarl, to do with as I please. I am the Thane of Markarth. I will be recounting the tale in person to the Jarl." She then turned to Argis, and raising one hand she touched his cheek. It felt like he was being caressed by a red-hot poker, and he jerked away with a grunt.

"Now." The Dragonborn rumbled in a tone that left no room for disobedience. "Leave us."

She turned to look over her shoulder, and the two guards shuffled out while Helga lingered. She didn't much like being told what to do in her own home, especially when she'd cared for and treated Argis on her own for so long. She had half a mind to rip into the Dunmer woman when the Dragonborn raised her grey hand.

"I apologize. For my rudeness. It has been a long day, and I wish for but a moment with my Housecarl. Those men tried my patience." The mask turned slowly back to Argis, and he looked away to Helga long enough to nod slowly.

"If you don't mind, Helga. It shouldn't take long."

The older Nord frowned but nodded, sending Argis a sharp look that said, "I'm watching her", before she slipped out the door.

As soon as the door closed, Argis reached forward and grabbed at the mask, trying to pull it off as the Dragonborn began to chuckle.

"Damn you daedra!" He hissed, watching as the figure before him began to melt and contort. The handful of mask he'd grabbed turned out to be a mess of black hair, and he angrily shoved the Dremora away as the laughter grew louder.

"You mortals grow more amusing with every era." Venif said, baring his teeth in a twisted version of a smile as Argis sat down on the bed. He'd actually thought it'd been that easy. That the Dragonborn had simply skipped into town like her being carried off was a big joke. Nothing could harm the Dragonborn! Apparently not.

"You're angry. Amusing as well. You must hurry with your recovery, mortal, we have work to do."

Argis glared up at him, noticing that the Dremora was free from his armor and weapons and wore a long black robe instead. He shook his head, trying not to think too much on the pain radiating from his arm. This time he knew how to handle it, and instead allowed the fire beneath his skin to burn and not fight it. Fighting it took so much more out of him, and the pain was less intense this way.

"Work, huh?" He asked, running his hands down his face as he redirected his focus on the floor. He already knew what the Dremora wanted. He wouldn't have gone through this much trouble for anything else.  
"Why should I help you? You and that... that woman have brought nothing but trouble into my life since I met you."

The Dremora shrugged his now petite shoulders and started walking slowly around the room.

"Because, if you don't, the Dovahkiin will die."

Argis groaned, a combination of desires beginning to wage war in his mind. The damn curse. Had he really forgotten the one limb he owned that could bring him to his knees in pain? And if she died... He couldn't die... Not yet.

"Fine. But on one condition." He stated, and the Dremora laughed.

"I do not negotiate with mortals."

"Then you will lose your Mistress."

"I will have great satisfaction ripping out your innards in her memory."

"Satisfaction earned from the shame of failing. But satisfaction no less. I understand."

Venif placed his hands on his hips, his chest rumbling loud enough with pent-up aggression that Argis could feel it from across the room.

"What is your condition, mortal?"

Argis took a deep breath. The Dremora already knew what Argis wanted. Hell, anyone that had been in his head the last couple days would know what the Nord wanted.

"Remove my link to the Dragonborn." He held up his arm and motioned to the glowing red runes. "And I wouldn't mind a real fight with you. Outside the dream realm."

Venif chuckled darkly, and Argis was willing to bet he'd accept just for the pleasuring of getting a go at him once his summoner was saved.

The masked head nodded twice, and Argis held out his hand for the Dremora to shake. He watched the slender grey hand slide into his own, and he suppressed the urge to flinch away. For some reason he felt as if he was making a deal with the Dragonborn herself. The only difference was that the Dremora's hand burned his palm, and he imagined hers would have been cool to the touch.

"Fine. When do we start?"

Venif crossed his arms, and threw his head back like the Dragonborn did.

"Now."


	8. Chapter 8

Please enjoy. :)

* * *

At first it had been strenuous following the daedra in disguise down the sunlit roads of the Reach. The air was hot and dry, and Argis had stopped several times at the bank of the Karth River to splash cold water on his face. He felt like he was being roasted alive. Every stop he made caused Venif to grow impatient with him and it didn't take more than one stop before he gave up waiting for the Nord at all. That was when Argis realized, as the Dremora walked away, he dragged the heat with him, leaving the air considerably cooler.

Argis caught up with him but kept some distance. Now that he was focusing on it, he could feel the heat pour off the daedra's body in endless waves. He'd never noticed it until now. How inconvenient.

They had traveled several miles south from Karthwasten when the Dremora had dropped his disguise in exchange for his own gruesome appearance.

"Ahhh." He growled, stretching his arms out and twisting his wrists. His bones cracked loudly, and there was a sickening snapping sound as he rolled his shoulders. "It feels good to rid myself of her skin."

"There's something wrong with you." Argis commented dryly as he readjusted the strap of his pack. Before leaving Karthwasten Helga had outfitted the two of them with enough supplies to last a week, and the 'Dragonborn' had tossed her pack to her loyal housecarl before they'd left. He felt bad that he'd been forced to depart so quickly. He hadn't had time to stop and thank everyone for their part in defending against the attack, which he felt personally responsible for to begin with. He'd written a hasty note for Lash, promising that he would come back to explain what had happened, that he'd entrusted to his caretaker before Venif had dragged him down the hill.

"It is considered a talent among my race to take on the appearance of another." The Dremora explained, sniffing at the air with a grimace. "And it is an honor to represent the Dovahkiin. Now, this way."

Argis followed the Dremora off the stone road and between two mounds of jagged rocks. The climb away from the main road seemed to take forever, and finally they had traveled so deep into the Reach even Argis was fuzzy on where exactly they were. They'd found a patch of flat land, not very big and tucked away between pillars of rock and crooked juniper trees. He looked around approvingly.

"So, what's next?" Argis asked, unbuckling his sleep roll from the bottom of his knapsack. "You haven't exactly revealed your master plan to save the Dragonborn to me yet, and time isn't on our side."

He unrolled the mat and sat on it, casually leaning back after fishing out an apple to eat. The Dremora wasn't looking at him, but out and into the wilderness. The setting sun cast long shadows around them, making their camp feel dark and tucked away. Argis had to commend the Dremora, it wasn't a bad spot to stop in for the night. But Venif was silent, and Argis didn't really care if he talked.

In fact, Argis settled back to watch the sky when the silence stretched on after an hour. The Dremora stood unmoving, his black eyes glimmering even in the darkness. It was unsettling, but not nearly as much as when Venif suddenly hunched forward.

With a ferocious roar, the Dremora launched himself out and into the darkness. His rumbling roar echoed off the rocks as he blended into the darkness. Argis sat there, breathing deep to calm the rabid beating of his heart.

"By the Gods..." He said, so softly that he didn't even realize he'd said anything until the area grew quiet again. Before Venif he'd never seen a Dremora before. He'd been raised like a warrior without magic and especially without conjurers of daedra.

The reason his Orsimer brothers remained in their communities and to their tribal ways made more and more sense with each passing day. He sat up on the mat, back straight as he watched the edges of the darkness for sign of the Dremora's return. The darkness was what unnerved him, so he set about building a fire and singing old songs to himself.

It was just before the sun began to rise that movement across the small flat land caught his eye. He watched as a great hulking beast slowly walked into the clearing, its head tilted up as it released a low howl into the air.

Its hide was an inky black and along its side red symbols glowed and shifted across its defined muscles. While its mouth hung low, loaded with sharp teeth and bits of flesh, its eyes were slatted and set high up into its thin face. It was definitely canine in appearance, with slender hips and a broad chest. Across its shoulders rested a collection of bloodied furs and strings of teeth, and if Argis wasn't mistaken, there were boots and some weapons in the pile as well.

Halfway through the clearing the air around the dog began to ripple with waves of heat, and as it walked it began to change. First it shrunk in size, the torso pulled together and the limbs shortened considerably. Its paws stretched and thinned into human looking hands, and its mouth began to draw back. Its black, forked tongue slithered out and licked its lips clean from the pieces of charred flesh before it too pulled back into something more human looking.

The creature walking now was a man, and Argis wearily stood to meet the Dremora half way.

"Is there anything else you turn into that I should know about?" Argis growled, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the nude Dremora who sauntered up to him with an arrogant smirk. "A cat? A butterfly? A troll, maybe?"

"You wouldn't want to know." Venif growled, before pulling the collection of furs from around his back and tossing them at Argis.

"These will need to be washed, but they will be of use when you go to save the Dovahkiin."

Argis dropped the pile on the ground before bending to shift through them. As soon as he uncovered a wooden sword, he looked over his shoulder at the Dremora in surprise.

"This is Forsworn armor." He said, tossing aside a boot filled with blood. "You attacked a Forsworn camp last night?"

The Dremora was picking through their knapsacks, looking at everything with disdain before pulling back. He grinned.

"I hunted most of the night. I came across the Reachmen on my return to our camp." He finally wiped his hands together, his black skin gleaming in the sunlight.

"Gods..." Argis said, throwing the furs down and standing. "You seem perfectly capable of rescuing the Dragonborn on your own. Why did you even come for me if you're able to transform into a giant man-eating dog? In fact, why do you need me at all if you know where she is?"

The Dremora glared at him, his mouth twisting into a snarl as he spoke.

"My time is limited. Even as we speak I am being beckoned back." With that said he looked at the sky, his grimace still in place.

"Now. Get dressed. I have forgotten my robe, and I will be in need of something to cover my glory. You can wear the furs and I will take your filthy, earth slave clothes."

Argis gathered the pile of furs, turning his head away from the strong stench of blood.

"Prisoner, housecarl, now a Dremora's dressing doll. This keeps getting better and better."

* * *

He'd sat by the river for a long time, slowly washing away all the traces of blood and dirt from his body and the old furs. He'd taken a small dagger and scraped it across his skin, shaving away the mass of blonde facial hair that had grown long in the past couple of days. Once his face was bare, he shook out his wet hair and began shearing off handfuls at a time until it was so close to his scalp he could run his fingers through it without any tangles.

Looking at himself in the water, he frowned. He hadn't gained much weight, that was for certain. But his time in the sun had darkened his skin, and now with his short hair he felt like a completely different person. His white eye stood out against his brown flesh, and the red tattoo on his cheek was still noticeable, but could easily be looked over it had faded so. Since waking up in Karthwasten, the runes on his arm hadn't burned like they normally did...

Like they did when he was around the Dragonborn. No, it seems that whatever affected the curse had been dealt with for now, and he enjoyed the mental clarity.

What surprised him more than anything, was that he could now think of the Dragonborn without hatred. What ever had been driving him had almost wanted her dead. And now... Now he didn't know what to think. His freedom was within his reach, and the Dremora was making the plans. When Venif had spoken of training, and sending him off to save her, he hadn't fought it much, even before the new pact was struck. In fact, part of him, well, wanted to.

He'd be lying if he said that the glory of saving the Dragonborn didn't appeal to him, now. He was Argis the Bulwark, the Hero of Dushnihk Yal. He'd held off twenty men with one shield during an attack on his Stronghold. He'd roped a mammoth and ridden it into battle against the Forsworn who plagued his land. Bandit leaders, warlords, assassins and murderers. He'd seen it all.

Now, he was going to save the Dragonborn, and add breaking a Dremora's curse to his list. When he was done, he was going to take his freedom. He was going to appeal to the Dragonborn. Point out their incompatibility and how much better off they'd be if they never spoke again. Bristling and lashing out at her had done nothing but start his downward descent. Now he'd take her on with a clear head, good reasoning, and a rune free limb.

He carried the fur armor back to their camp and let it lay out in the sun while he made himself lunch. He'd contemplated offering something to the daedra but already Venif had growled at him twice that morning for interrupting his nap.

Argis changed into the armor once it was dry, and tossed the shirt and trousers he'd been wearing next to the Dremora as ordered.

"There. Earth slave clothes." He growled, pulling a pair of fur bracers on over the leather gauntlets he'd worn from Karthwasten. The feathers that hung off his shoulders kept gently brushing his skin, and eventually he began picking at them and plucking them off.

"Stop your infernal picking. You are lucky that I didn't damage the armor at all upon retrieval. It is in prime condition."

Dressed in mortal clothing, Venif looked rather ridiculous with his sharpened horns, and a daedric blade on his hip. He was several inches taller than Argis, so the pants hung just over his ankle while the shirt revealed his stomach when he raised his arms too high. The fabric didn't hang on Venif like it had on Argis, but then again the Dremora was a wall of sheer muscles while Argis was still scrawny in comparison.

"Draw your blade." He commanded, and Argis rolled his eyes before picking up the wooden sword Venif had brought him.

"I can't fight with this." He insisted, gently touching one of the sharpened rocks imbedded in the wood. It didn't so much as draw a speck of blood.

"You'll have to if you want to live."

Venif drew his sword and swung it at Argis at an angle across his chest. The Nord easily stepped back and out of the way, and he held the sword with both hands. Unfortunately it wasn't meant for both hands, so he held his left arm out uselessly as he adjusted to only using the right.

"I can't fight with this!" He insisted, sidestepping again as Venif gave him another nonchalant swing. The Dremora was holding back barely contained laughter, his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he spoke. The daedric blade cut through the air silently like it was nothing.

"You're not even trying. The Reachmen are known to be fast and their attacks can be unending. One right after the other." Venif struck out with his sword once more, and Argis lifted his own sword in time to direct the blade across his cheek and not through his face.

"You forget. I am not a member of the Forsworn." Argis growled, lashing out with his own attack. The blade shuddered and bent against its form as Venif blocked it. "I am more shield than blade."

Venif lowered his sword and struck Argis across the face with his fist. Spinning quickly, Argis ducked and sent a low kick at the Dremora's feet. Venif jumped back in time and thrust his arm forward, causing Argis to jerk back to avoid his sword by inches.

"Then start blocking, human. He-agh!"

* * *

"Faster! Faster!" Venif growled, wielding the wicked daedric blade as if it weighed nothing. He swung it over his head, his other arm out to keep his balance as he drove the blade against Argis' sword over and over. Chunks of wood were flying everywhere at this point.

Argis grunted under the onslaught, sweat pouring down his face and neck as he twisted and moved to hold off his opponent's blade. Since midday the Dremora had pushed the Nord into practicing his combat skills. Over and over they set metal to wood until Argis was strained and his muscles were weakened. It was now well into the evening, and they worked by the light of their fire over the uneven levels of rock and earth in the clearing.

Venif pulled his arm back and swung with all his might, catching Argis' blade and pushing against it hard enough to drive it into the dirt with a snap. The Dremora swung up, the razor edge catching the underside of his arm. The Nord had moved back fast enough to escape any further damage, and he held his arm as blood oozed between his fingers and hit the ground.

"Aaargh!" Venif screamed, dropping his sword arm, his eyes shining darkly in the firelight. "You are weak! How will you face the fury of the Forsworn when you can barely hold your own against one man?"

Argis said nothing. He was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he held his arm. The Forsworn armor he wore did little in the ways of protection. It was thin fur, stitched into strips of thick leather that only covered certain areas of his torso and his legs. But it was nothing compared to his usual steel armor. Even the Forsworn weapon he sparred with didn't hold like a steel blade. The sword he'd fought with was made of reeds and leather, and it easily bent when used to block. Now of course it was in two pieces, but a steel sword didn't snap like that.

Argis sat on his bedroll and pulled his knapsack towards him. He pulled out a healing potion, and ripping the cork out with his teeth, poured the contents into the hand of his uninjured arm before splashing it up and into the gash. His skin began to tingle and knit together, and he closed his eyes to keep calm. It was weird to feel his flesh manipulate itself like that, and since he wasn't in battle he had to sit still and wait until it was over.

He picked up another sword, noticing that several of the jagged teeth that made up the blade had been lost. He did his best to improve it without the sharpened pieces. He'd never understand the Forsworn and their weapons made of reeds and teeth. He missed his sword. His steel sword. This Forsworn blade was his third one out of the four Venif had brought back from his attack. He must have thought ahead.

"Stand mortal. Again."

Venif stood over him, his sword drawn and pointed at Argis' chest. Argis gripped the handle of his new sword and smacked the side of the daedra's blade away from his chest. He could rolled to his left and sprang to his feet.

They kept it up until the sky began to soften into shades of pink and baby blues. His sword snapped just as the sun came up, and Venif sheathed his blade with an angered roar before stomping off. Argis stripped out of his armor and dropped his blade on top of the pile, mumbling numerous insults at the daedra as he collapsed onto his bedroll.

Settling into his bedroll, he left Venif to his own devices as he sought sleep. His arms were sore, and his legs were weak, and across his back three particular points pained him enough to start a migraine. He held his water skin under his blankets with him and sipped from it until he fell asleep.

When he awoke several hours later, the Dremora was gone, so he quickly shoveled food in his mouth and tucked himself back in. Mentally counting down the days, Argis realized that the Dragonborn had been taken by the Forsworn almost a week ago.

Something told him they didn't have much time left.


End file.
